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Tuesday, July 31, 2012

I'm working on a "real" post but I wanted to check in and let you all know that Brock and I both survived the stomach flu, even though there were a few shaky moments. We are now both functioning at our normal 54%, although watching the twins on The Bachelor Pad last night probably brought our brain activity down to about 18%.

Emptying your intestines of everything via a stomach virus is sort of like a poor man's colon cleanse. Even though you feel weak and defeated on the outside, your digestive tract is as fresh and clean as that of a baby calf that almost died from severe scours.

So as not to waste a sparkling clean colon, I took the first few days after my special time with the toilet to only eat food that was pure, whole and good for me. Then I branched out very cautiously into the meats and cheese category. Then I sampled some popcorn at Super Target. Then I ate greasy rodeo food. Then I had wine. Then I discovered a sugary. delicious gluten-free phenomenon and all of my careful, health conscious eating was out the window like Smelly Cat clawing a hole through the screen to make himself an escape route that he probably calls "My personalized kitty door because you bastards ignored my meowing again. You should thank me for not shitting in your closet."

Let my introduce you to my little friend.

﻿﻿

HOW TO MAKE THIS COOKIE CONCOCTION:
You smear the chocolate on the cookie like THIS,and then you EAT IT.

I found this BTS Chocolate at my local farmer's market. It is made right here in Ft. Collins by what I guess to be a couple of dirty old hippies. And when I say dirty, I mean their minds are filthy, so naturally I will support their business. BTS stands for Better Than Sex and they offer a variety of titillating flavors such as: Sex~presso, Better Than Sex in Half the Time!; OrgasMint, Mmmm-Baby! Come chill me ‘til I melt!;Spank Me and Naughty Nectar. I purchased Original Sin,Come to the Dark Side. (We have Chocolate), a classic dark chocolate. Although it is good on ice cream and right off the spoon, using it as frosting on this crunchy chocolate chip cookie stole not only my heart, but the entire show. One look at my thighs will tell you that I am very familiar with sugary baked goods which is a clear indicator of my expert level of cookie judgement. After years of intense research, I've discovered that I'm typically more in favor of a soft cookie, yet the crunch of this Enjoy Life cookie keeps it quite light yet satisfying.

The cookies are from Super Target (not yer ordinary Target), which is shocking because, quite frankly, their gluten free selection blows. But, it is SUPER Target, so I have hope for a better gluten free choices in their future. Also, I forgive them because of all of the other awesome shit that they sell.

So go here and buy some chocolate, get your crunchy cookies and find some elastic waist pants because you are in for a par-tay.

Friday, July 27, 2012

You know those moments when everything goes wrong and your friends all move out of town and you just experienced one too many awkward and painful moments with people that are supposed to love and support you and then you get the stomach flu at the exact same time that your husband does in the middle of the night?

Thank God Brock put in a second bathroom, because my boxing-out skills are strong from my years of playing basketball and he wouldn't stand a chance against these bony elbows and child birthing hips.

And I will have you know that I don't just go all willy nilly with my stomach flu time. I am type A right down to the way I vomit. I first braided my hair, then put on a headband so as not to get anything nasty in my locks. Then I wiped down the base of the toilet, because once I got onto the floor, I realized that Thing 1 had indeed been using the toilet (and not just my shower) as a urinal. Then I hit a high C and commenced with my business.

Then I repeated the process multiple times until I was reduced to a sweaty, quivering lump in my bed. The next day, in between trying to sleep and take care of my children (ha!), I discovered two pieces of disheartening information from people that I love. Then I was sad. Then I walked around most of today with greazzzzzy (but not chunky!), unbrushed hair in Brock's t-shirt (that I happen to hate) and I fed my children McDonald's for lunch because cooking is not an option.

On a positive note, times like this usually end in me losing a few pounds and thinking about the person that I do NOT want to be. Then, after an arduous process of sorting out my thoughts, I make mental notes to not make those same mistakes, but to do better with myself for those around me.

I know that I am being cryptic here, and I am in no way searching for "Oh sorry, tell me what happened." I am just venting, and I am merely doing the right thing by not naming names. Look at me! I'm a grown up now!

I think that I deserve some ice cream... and maybe a sticker.

I also want to pause and thank you all for reading what I write. Your support and comments mean more to me than you could imagine. And I'm almost sorry that I started my last post with telling people to f*** off. Please google images for Cats Wearing Hats and accept that as my mostly sincere apology.

How do you handle situations that are just plain wrong? What do you eat when recovering from the stomach flu (especially since my system can no longer handle Saltines, which were my go-to food for problematic tummy times)?

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

I'm posting about material goods again today, so if your not interested in reading more about my adventures in shopping, stop reading now and go finish knitting that candy corn hat for your cat. (I suggested the knitting, because I feel like that is nicer than saying "F*** off and go read someone else's blog!", and I am nothing if not nice.)

I realize that this is, indeed, a pumpkin hat and not a candy corn hat-
but you get the picture.

As much as I love shopping, I loathe buying new tennis shoes. I would so much rather spend money on books, a new pair of leather boots or a date night with martinis and my handsome husband, than to buy new work out gear. That is probably why my current pair is over three years old, broken down and covered in dirt, grass stains and.... is that bacon grease? Gee, could my crappy old shoes be the source of my back trouble? Surely not.

*The shoes in the picture are not my real shoes, they are merely actor shoes, depicting the truth.

In lieu of throwing those stinky old sneakers into my luggage with all of my fabulous NYC wardrobe, I decided that it was time for a new pair. Since I already had called a sitter so that I had time to return my now broken bleepity bleeping cell phone to Verizon,because taking children to the cell phone store is the equivalent fun level as birthing said children, I took advantage of my child free time for a little thing I like to call "Exercising my Credit Card". So I pulled on my fringed bag, adjusted my pink bangle bracelets and channeled my inner athlete as I headed next door to Runner's Roost for a new pair of sneaks.

Upon arrival, the sales associate was friendly and helpful, even though I was... well... me. First he asked if I needed stability for pronation or if my foot was balanced, to which I replied, "Oh, I'm unstable, for sure."

He stifled a laugh, which was too bad for him,because it only encouraged more dickery from me.

Then he proceeded to point out the styles that could provide the proper support for a lady of my Pro-Nation stature (Go NRA!). Of course I immediately established a love affari with the green shoes, but sadly, they cramped my toes and I hadn't even taken on my daily foot water yet. He next pointed at some white ones that he had in my Clydesdale size and I looked at him bleakly and said, "I can't own white shoes. I will wear them twice and it will look like I've been out slopping the hogs all day."

Then he asked, "How far do you typically run?". Thinking about my erratic walk, limp, spastic sprint, double over and gasp for air, walk routine, I replied, "About as far as Betty White runs every day. How far do you think I can run with my walker?"

Since the green were not in my size (why can't I have greeeennn? And WHHHHYYYY doesn't anyone make quarter sizes??? It's such a simple solution!), I ended up with a pair of grey and pink Nike's (of course! what other color would be available to me?), which is perfect because they will match my pink phone case, my pink tongue, my pink unicorn and the pink around my eyes. Also, the grey color should quite nicely camouflage the dirt and grime in which they will soon be covered. Because I'm a mothereffing lady.

When I was checking out, there was a high school student at the counter beside me and our friendly sales associate told her that she would get a student discount. Then I piped up, "I'll take that discount, because I'm a student of life." I don't think I got the discount, but I did get some new, non smelly shoes to wear for when I hobble around like an 85 year old woman with a plastic hip and call it "exercise". I'm tempted to try them out with my giant fanny pack, mom jeans, and terry cloth visor that I plan on wearing in New York, because aside from a camera strapped around my neck, what else would scream tourist more loudly?

Monday, July 23, 2012

I cannot tell a lie, most of my time recently has been spent wondering why I used to like "Who's the Boss?", trying to determine the source of that sticky substance under the table, lining up childcare for when I am in New York!!!! and planning my wardrobe for The 2012 BlogHer Conference. Did I mention that it is in New York City, The Fashion Capital of the United States? Well, it is, and I refuse to show up looking like I fell out of the trash truck as it was driving by my house. It's New York City and I'm going to be fancy, gosh durn it! Hey, has anyone seen my banjo?

Everything you heard is true, I am a person that has been blessed by God with a shit-ton of seemingly useless talents. For example, I instantly memorize and store away the misinformation that I glance at in People magazine while in the check out line at the grocery store, but don't ask me to list the former Presidents or tell you where the pancreas or Sweden is located. I love decorating, fashion, art, comedy, dancing and music. Sadly, my dancing or music making attempts usually end in shame and humiliation, so instead I draw cartoons and attempt to amuse people with often ill-timed wisecracks and weird facial expressions. Sometimes people think I'm drunk when I'm not. Sometimes I help those people dress themselves or decorate their homes! Here is where I should have studied Business instead of Art in college- NONE OF THIS STUFF THAT I LOVE TO DO PAYS ME ANYTHING. Whoops. Minor planning snafu.

Because I am a go-with-the-flow giving sort of gal, I am here today to offer more of my free gift to you: I am going to use my stellar fashion sense and put together a handy dandy guide that I will call: "Do's and Don'ts for BlogHer 2012". Because I'm an opportunist, this could also be titled "How Not to Dress Like a Moron" or "Stop It. Stop it right now. Step away from the yoga pants and gym shirt from 1987."

Never having been to either New York City or any BlogHer Conference, and spending the majority of my time in sweaty work-out clothes (aka. my pajamas), I feel that I am an expert for all of your fashion needs.

DO:

Pack enough that you give yourself options. As women, we often have emergency situations, also known as "Fat Days", "Bad Hair Days" and, if you are like me, "Whoops, I perspired heavily again". Having a variety of clothing and shoes to choose from will not only aid in overcoming these crises, it will also give you more options, thus making you feel indecisive and eventually late to whatever event you are attending. Or maybe that's only me....

Always build your outfit from the ground up. SHOES, people, SHOES. Know what you want to have on your feet and go from there. And please, for the sake of my eyes, do not wear ugly shoes. If you are going to spend your money on one part of your wardrobe, BUY GOOD QUALITY SHOES. I have a solid selection of comfortable shoes and handbags of at least mediocre quality, and I use the clothing that I am wearing to accessorize my accessories. I also read magazines backwards and have been known to wear $400 cowboy boots with Target pants and Old Navy tops, so maybe I am not the right person to consult here.

Make an effort to be true to yourself, yet honor the environment around you. In other words, if your days normally consist of wearing fleece, overalls and your husband's paint stained shirt, you need to get a new self image... and don't forget to close the gate or the pigs will escape. Looking to your friends for fashion advice is a great place to start- unless they wear the same crap that you do, then you people need to find a more stylish friend and look to him or her for advice.May I suggest the woman in the great boots at the school drop-off, your hairstylist or any gay man?

Look at fashion magazines and non-crazy celebrities for influence. Clothing designers utilize both of these markets. Buy a couple of reputable magazines (no, The Enquirer does not count, neither does Field and Stream) and pour over them like you are studying for a final exam. With your new found information of what is trending, you dial a girlfriend and make a shopping date. Then you leave the kids with the hubs and spend a day finding similar items on sale in your local mall. I usually take these opportunities to have margaritas at noon, which always leads to the pictures that I will show you in my "Don't" section. For more clarification, if your inspiration outfit will eventually attract maggots or Charlie Sheen, or the celebrity's skin is orange and their hair looks like Flock of Seagulls, you might want to look for a style icon that is more "Charlize Theron" and less "Lil' Kim".

Wear things that are figure flattering, comfortable and make you feel good about YOU. If you are not sure what flatters your figure, go to a nice store, find a friendly non-slack-jawed sales clerk who has surpassed puberty and ASK FOR HELP. Take it from this non-slack-jawed former sales associate, we LOVE helping people find something that makes them look and feel great. Having someone snap your picture in the clothing also helps you see yourself from the eyes of others and will give you an extra view to ensure that your back fat isn't hanging over your waistband. And don't forget the supportive undergarments.

Don't underestimate the transforming qualities of a
good pair of underwear.
But seriously, please don't wear these.

Be fun and playful, but not ridiculous. Going to a new place to meet people that you've only met online may sound like the most insane thing that you have ever done, but you don't need to LOOK insane. This is why I am leaving my violently green leisure suit at home. Although I cannot deny the awesome of a well-timed prop, don't make yourself the prop. Keep it classy. You're not behind your computer anymore- this is a public forum. At least attempt to make people think that you are "normal". Be professional and save the dickery for your business cards, like I did.

Remember, when you make yourself look good on the outside, you will inevitably feel good on the inside. This is a Universal Truth, folks. It's just the way it works.

DON'T:

Think that you have to look like an anorexic 13 year old to wear the current fashions. We all have figure "issues" that we are dealing with. For instance, everything that I put on is big in the chest, tight across my hips and tourniquet like on my giant man farm arms. I was looking for a cute chambray dress the other day and found one that fit everywhere except the biceps. It was so tight that I feared I would accidentally Hulk-rip myself right out of the sleeves. Instead of crying, I laughed. Especially after my friend said for me, "Do you need me to lift your tractor?" Also, don't shop in the Junior department unless you are teeny tiny and don't do manual labor.

Take on the trends of a generation that is not yours. Just dress your age and everyone will be happy. Are you in your 40's? Then you are not a hipster. You already wore that shit... when you were in high school. Just listen to your Air Supply cassette in private and deal with it.

"JUST CALL ME MELVILLE."

Wear too many hootchie pieces together. There is something to be said for a conservative dress paired with some sexy stilettos, or a low cut sundress with flat, braided leather sandals. But unless you want men waggling their eyebrows and asking "How much?", you want to be conscious that too much sex appeal does not a lady make. Be aware of how much skin you are showing. Be aware of your actual size. Be aware of men trying to give you cash for "services". They are not talking about pedicures. And for goodness sake, keep your lady bits INSIDE of your clothing. Remember, blood is meant to circulate, not pool in your head from the intense sausage casing that is your new skinny jeans. And always and forever, "Camel Toe- Just Say No!"

Wear your gym shoes with jeans, or worse, capri pants. Unless you are hiking in the mountains and no one has a camera, you should not do this. Ever. There. I said it. Your options for footwear should extend beyond Nike, Crocs and Keens. Think of all of the homeless boots and strappy sandals and wedges that need your love and care. Do it for them. Leather is your friend.

Take your "yes" friend shopping with you, unless you want to come home with cropped flared pants, anything that could be described as "a jumper" or something with a raccoon embroidery embellishment. People who always find something good to say are not going to help you with tough fashion choices. Instead, take your loud mouth friend that was born without a filter who shouts things like, "MOVE IT, YOU MUTHAS!" at the drop off zone at school. This friend also needs to drink margaritas at noon, have some fashion sense, and not be afraid to tell you that those jeans make your ass look bad.

Polyester. Do I really need to elaborate here?

Whatcha got in your jacket, there?

It's so wrong, it's right.
No... no it isn't. It's just wrong.

Just remember, when in doubt, know that most women are essentially dressing up for each other. So dress yourself with confidence and your best accessory, a smile (unless your grill is jacked up, then I would recommend a large diamond or a fancy little dog)! And know that almost all of us are hiding cellulite somewhere.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

After a long day of laundry, cleaning house, a failed naptime for the Things, more laundry, the splash park, cooking and dancing around the house like a tween with Pandora radio blasting into my headphones managing my other important daily tasks, I just wanted to relax in Eleanor with a glass of wine and a movie. Instead, I found myself staring at the pile of sheets and comforters that the Things had carefully and methodically smeared with diaper ointment during their failed naptime and wondering when the day would end.

At least their room now smells of lavender, making one think that I am a doting, tireless mother who dabbles in aromatherapy, gives my wee ones aura massages and let's them collect Satan's Spawn reptiles to keep as pets. The kind of committed mother who would eat the placenta, make a sock monkey, then rock her children to sleep whilst singing BPA free lullabies instead of snarling "GO TO SLEEP or I'm taking your toys away!", then putting on headphones to dance around the house and ignore the sound of said toys being slammed into the wall and the accompanying manic laughter and shrieking that tend to occur behind the closed door at "naptime".

But to my credit, Brock and I were doing a stellar job this evening with our tag team parenting, as we cleaned the boys room and prepared them for Now Go The F*** to Sleep sweet, sweet dreamland. Then I pulled out some fresh (non diaper ointment smeared) sheets and leaned over Thing 1's twin bed, which is jammed against a wall, to put the fitted sheet on the far corner of the mattress. As soon as I did this, I groaned in agony from the searing pain that projected from the trash heap that is also known as my my lower back/hip area- because I'm apparently 176 years old and in need of a walker, Boniva and a large slathering of Aspercreme.

Brock noticed my guttural cry for help and kindly said, "Here- let me do that.", as he reached for the sheets.

As I pulled myself back up to a semi-upright position, I shamefully said to Brock, who is 10 years my senior, "I'm sorry. I know you thought that you were getting some sort of a prize when you picked me."

Brock replied, "IIIIIIIiiiiiii.... er.... yeah. That's why I never gamble. I'm just not good at it."

I couldn't even pretend to not hear him as I was searching for my ear horn because I was laughing too hard.

And that is how we roll on a Saturday night. So if you'll excuse me, it's now movie time. By the sound of the cheesy theme music, Brock has chosen yet another ancient western flick; meaning that I now have time to look at facebook and focus some attention to that callous on my foot.

How do you spend your Saturday nights? Tell me please, so that Brock and I may live vicariously through you.

Monday, July 16, 2012

When school let out for summer break, Brock and I made a conscious decision to keep Thing 1, who just turned five, out of organized activities. The pressure to get your kid "involved" at a young age is intense, especially in a city like Ft. Collins where Jaxson has already earned his black belt in Karate, Kayden is reading at a third grade level and Little Lily is in her 4th year of dance before Kindergarten Roundup. Yet I bravely evaded the 21st Century parenting "requirements" and attempted to navigate the choppy waters of "unstructured play". I decided to let the children do important creative childhood activities, like play with earth worms, toads, bubbles, cardboard boxes and each other.

Who needs soccer when you have a soda flat?

My ultimate goal was to keep one last summer for our family so that we can do whatever we want to do, whenever we want to do it. One last summer without the organized activities that come with strict schedules and Saturdays dedicated to Soccer games or T-ball tournaments. One last summer for impromptu camping trips, day hikes and farmer's markets. One last summer of pure fun.

Some good old fashioned fun in the backyard
(making little brother do all the work)

Just as I wished, my summer has been full of last minute decisions to take trips to the mountains for hiking and horseback riding. We have spent multiple nights in our friends' cabin, where we enjoyed hamburgers and lemonade under the crystal blue Colorado skies. We have had no schedule. We have filled our children's lives with parades, rodeos, ponies, parks, BBQ's and nature. They have spent so much time in the dirt that the bathtub looks like a sandbox every evening after bath time. Thing 1 learned to ride a bike and Thing 2 discovered his love of ants. We planted a garden and have eaten pea pods out of it while warming ourselves in the sun, throwing the stick for Red Dog and admiring at our newly planted flowers. We have been "organized activity" free, just as I planned, and I have never been more exhausted in my entire freaking life.

Thing 1, Blizzard and I in the Rooptop Rodeo Parade.

Yes, this seriously happened.

As I type this, my overstimulated children are simultaneously screaming from the rooms that I separated them into, trying to destroy my happiness...my collagen... my metabolism their nap time. Every evening I hear them jumping on their beds two hours past their bedtime and yet they wake before me and are eagerly waiting for me with demands of food when I stumble from my room each morning. My normally brilliant sleepers have morphed into overtired, grocery store screaming, Popsicle demanding, toy hoarders who fight non-stop and make me burst into tears at 7:30 a.m. (hypothetically speaking, of course). All in all, my plan for an easy breezy summer clearly failed and I can't WAIT for some organized activities so that they have some FOCUS and attention that doesn't come from ME.

What have I learned from this breakdown lesson? That if you look haggard and sound distressed every time your husband sees you, he will sense that you are teetering on the brink of sanity and HE WILL BUY YOU AWESOME COWBOY BOOTS AND INSIST YOU GO TO BLOGHER 2012.

I bought my tickets this morning and I can't WAIT to meet you crazy broads! Watch out New York City!

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Today's entry is a guest post from JoEllen Krauss. I was excited to post this because it means that I have more free time today so that I can nap finish up those lingering projects. Also, I plan on having a get together later with a few of my girlies and I need to spackle on a little makeup so that no one has bad dreams tonight.

I'll get back to you later this week and tell you about all the excitement in my life that lead to my absence at the computer. Here's a sneak preview:

This happened.

What do we have here? A tiny cowboy?

I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.

Peace and Love!
Johi

BIO:

JoEllen Krauss is a mom of two boys
and divides her time between being sane and otherwise.In her spare time she drinks wine and writes freelance
for Providian Medical. In this
guest post she shares some lies she’s told her kids to make it through the day.

Tall Tales I've Told My Son

Kids today know that sitting too close to the television has no
effect on their eyesight and that swimming less than an hour after you have
eaten will not, in fact, cause your stomach to spaz out, cramp and cause you to
drown. These were lies told us by our parents to get through the day. I have,
sadly, lied to my kid too. I’m not so sure I’m proud of these little beauties.

I have a perfect place for your artwork.
I am very proud of my child’s creations, but I'm not crazy. If I were the
sentimental type, I might keep drawers and drawers of my son’s art projects,
school worksheets and drawings, but really, who wants to end up on Hoarders?
Not me. I’d rather limit the good stuff to one manila folder per year. I’ll
happily keep the artwork that makes me laugh or cry and never depicts me as
fat. The rest of it will go in a cylindrical file under a bunch of other trash
where my budding artist will never see it.

That broken toy that was probably cheap and/or annoying? It needs to rest in
my desk drawer.
I remember this cheap toy. It's the one he begged for and I relented to because
I’m a spineless marshmallow. I’ll put it in my desk drawer and when I get the
time, I'll fix it and it will be as good as new. Promise. Maybe I’m overly
working my passive-aggressive muscles, but if he hadn’t been so persistent that
day that I was a spineless marshmallow, we wouldn’t have this problem. My desk
drawers are filled of reminders of my parenting failures. Yay.

The louder you are, the less likely I can hear you.
That whole inside voice/outside voice theory behind child volume management is
faulty. It takes too much brain power for a child to decide if they are in fact
in or out. Don’t even get me started on the screened-in porch or patio
argument. In theory, if he wants to talk to me, he will run up very close, and
speak to me in a clear voice like a civilized person. The problem with this
lie, like so many others, is that it’s not true. My ears haven’t received the
memo. I can hear his yelling perfectly and I yell back. Sigh.

The beef you’re eating? It was from a very mean cow.
It doesn’t help matters that so many of my kid’s toys are agricultural based
and cute. (Hello, 18th Century? Would you like your red barn, farmers and
animals back?) When my family sits down for a burger the question will come up.
Where does hamburger come from? I’m honest with my son. It did come from a cow.
One that was cute. It grew up to be mean, heartless and was a bully, no, it was
a terrorist to all the other cows. It deserved a fate between two toasted buns.
Tomorrow night we’re saving the chickens from a big, bad one named Clucky.

I am a 21st century parent so my creative manipulation of my kid is far more
sophisticated than the your eyes will freeze like that variety.
If I didn’t lie, then my days would be spent actually repairing those stupid
toys. But then, if I waited an hour after I ate to swim, maybe I’d have time
after all.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

I have a love/hate relationship with the speak to text feature on my phone. I love it because I can be epically lazy busy and pushing a button and talking into your phone like you are a secret agent is easy and a little exciting. I hate it because it misunderstands me and types out sentences that make no sense. It also makes me look like I don't know how to use an apostrophe, nor do I know the difference between there, their and they're. These are the things that divide the classes, people. It's important. (Or if I was using speak to text, I would say "its impotent".)

My favorite time to use the speak to text feature is when I'm on my morning walks with Red Dog. My walk is my zen time to reflect, think and organize my mind for the day. Because some days I can't master "quiet reflection", I also use this time to text my single girlfriends to live vicariously through them see how their date went from the previous evening.

Here is today's conversation with my hot cougar/tigress friend. I'll call her Cougress. I'm the voice in green, using my speak to text feature so that I can keep Red Dog on a short leash to keep her from mutilating a baby bunny again. Cougress is the repetitive voice in grey, because AT&T was operating in an extra special way this morning and duplicating every text she sent (thus charging me, I'm certain.)

Then we went on to a more serious talk about her physical and mental condition.

Here is what I have deduced about my phone:Inside of my smart phone, there are three tiny people translating for the speak to text feature.

Let me introduce you to the first one. His name is Jethro. He is from the boonies, deep in the wooded thickets of Arkansas, and unfortunately his family tree did not fork. His older brother/uncle, Cletus, is a deaf/mute and his closest friend is a pot bellied pig named Bucktooth Sour Patch. Both Cletus and Bucktooth were instrumental in teaching Jethro all of his language and communication skills. Jethro enjoys trapping angry rodents, snipe hunting and collecting his toenails in a rusty coffee can that he keeps on the kitchen table.

Next is Jethro's Mail Order Bride, Svetlana. Svetlana suffered two severe head injuries in her youth, neither of which she ever fully recovered from, thereby causing her to accept three raccoon pelts, a string of beaver teeth and a live rattlesnake as payment for her hand in marriage. Upon arrival in Arkansas, she was immediately bitten by the rattlesnake and now suffers from partial paralysis in her tongue. She learned all of her English from Jethro and reruns of Baywatch. Svetlana loves anything with a tail, specifically Manicorns and goats, sniffing paint fumes, crafting head bands out of rodent tails and long walks through the barn.

Last but not least is Jethro and Svetlana's exchange student from Japan, Aito. Aito has only had six months of English and has far surpassed all of the language ability of his host family. Aito used to love soccer, reading and laughing with friends. Now he spends his time eating Twinkies (the only food in the house that isn't slaughtered on the front porch) and rocking himself in the fetal position in the corner of the goat pen while crying for home. Aito will later be diagnosed with severe post traumatic stress disorder and six kinds of parasites.

I hope that this has cleared up any confusion/frustration that you may be experiencing with the speak to text feature on your Smart Phone.

Peace, Love and Manicorns,
Johi

And in case you are unfamiliar with Manicorns (because they are elusive)....

Saturday, July 7, 2012

My husband and I have been together for something like nine years now. I'm not saying that all of the magic is lost, but I will say that I'm writing this blog post on a Saturday night and my cat is winning in the realm of affectionate massage because he is kneading my stomach like a bowl of lumpy dough. But really, back to Brock and I, we're not just husband and wife, I also consider him my best friend. (Except for my other best friend, the one that looks like Neil Patrick Harris.) Which is why I feel the need to help him stay current on all things pertaining to the wonderful world of women. This is actually been a bit of a group effort, since a couple of my single girl friends have also kept him up to date on the social workings of properly sending and receiving naked pictures on a cell phone. Thanks ladies, I pay you back for that one some day.

I attempt to use every opportunity that is presented for growth and development. Sometimes my own, always my children's and occasionally Brock's. Unfortunately, I often walk around with my head up an orifice that will remain unnamed my BUM so I miss many of them. But last Saturday I stealthily spotted a situation that I needed to use for a MAJOR BLO. (Brock Learning Opportunity):

Brock and I were on an actual date, sitting on the outdoor patio of an Asian Bistro. Old Town Ft. Collins is buzzing with life on weekend evenings, and being avid people watchers, we were not for lack of entertainment. I noticed a cowboy sitting on the patio of the restaurant next door with his back to us. I could tell that he was a cowboy by his giant brimmed, palm leaf hat. Women kept stopping at the patio barricade near him. They were all leaning towards him, smiling and chatting. Naturally I was curious about the cause of this reaction from the ladies, so I shifted my chair to get a better look at Mr. Giant Hat. That is when I spied the reason for all of the female attention. A blue heeler puppy, no more than 12 weeks old was lying at his feet. Aha! The old "look at this adorable puppy" routine, also known as the number one secret to getting random women to talk to you.

I said to my husband, "If I ever die in a fiery crash, you should get a really cute puppy and take it to a public place in a nice neighborhood. You will definitely meet a woman that can potentially mother our children that way. Maybe she could finally train our dogs, too."

Brock said, "That's a pretty good plan. Especially since I'm such an old fart."

I said, "I know. If you have a puppy, the chances of women talking to you are 100%. I recommend an Australian Shepard, because they are the cutest puppies. You are welcome."

(*This is a very accurate representation of the number of words each of us use per conversation. No wonder he doesn't listen to me.)

(*I have no clue what the woman's face looked like so I'm just assuming that she had a face and I improvised as best I could. Also, I'm not sure how to spell cantaloupe because I think it is a disgusting melon that smells like armpits. And I do know that you scratch an itch, not itch a scratch, but I do NOT know where we keep white out.)

Although this story is moral free, there are two and a half lessons to be learned.

1. Match your boob job to your body size- at least somewhat.

2. Don't whip your head around and stare directly at anyone with your mouth agape, unless your target is blind, then I'm pretty sure that they wouldn't notice.

2.5 Don't use watercolor with a random pen on computer paper- it bleeds. Also, don't get tired when drawing a child's arm, hence giving said child a club hand.

~ Do you do things like this with your significant other or am I the only strange bird in this land? Also, what kind of puppy do you think attracts the most attention?

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Everything you never wanted to know about me

I was raised on corn and pork in the great state of Iowa. I enjoy reading, cooking, eating, art, photography, wine, the great outdoors, most animals, remembering the past incorrectly, licking glass and pecking at shiny things. In my spare time I mother two tow-headed boys, write stories, illustrate, and do laundry. I also share my life with a handsome husband, a herd of cats, a dog or three, four gorgeous horses and anyone who needs a warm house and a sense of belonging.